


To Love Again

by Fallen_King



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Gay and emotional, Hungover Lestat is a grumpy Lestat, Lestat gains a swearing problem, Lestat is a mess, Louis is Louis, M/M, Modern Day, Non-Sexual Touching, coffin sharing, dirty dancing at clubs, gay vampires - Freeform, lestat works at a cafe, like ALOT, like me all the time, louis bein a creeper, they yell alot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9401708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen_King/pseuds/Fallen_King
Summary: A quiet night. A small cafe. A crowded club. It has been nearly twenty years since Louis has seen Lestat and now- well now it's different; now he's different. How long can this go on before Lestat notices, before he sees him. And how long can Louis keep himself hidden, keep himself invisible.{Based off of the movie}{Special thank you to i-want-my-iwtv (Tumblr) for helping me name this work}{Cover art by Diana Elisabeth Raum}





	1. That Night

Gentle swirls of feather light flurries drift amongst the darkened air. Through parting masses of grey, dim rays illuminate the powdery sidewalk. Pale hands are shoved deep within the recesses of black, wool pockets; brown locks tied back in a loose ponytail. Something causes the downcast emerald eyes to shift upward, scan across the frozen ground to the warmth of a lit up cafe. Shuffling feet stop, eyes squinting and brows furrowing. Through the clear glass a figure can be seen leaning on their elbow atop a black counter. They chat idly with another, curly blonde hair pulled loosely into a messy bun. Stray hairs frame the pale, smiling face- from across the sleek counter a hand reaches, tucking the golden ringlets behind an ear. A twisting feeling churns within the cold stomach of the loitering man across the cafe's street. He takes a few steps forward, contemplating what to do. Halting no more than halfway across the abandoned street, he makes up his mind. Staring at the calm scene he stands for a moment, then disappears as the snow during a warm spring evening.

Surrounded by the warmth and wafting smells of caffeine, the blonde one glances outside. For a second they swear there stands a figure in the road, but it is gone too quickly-too soon. A fleeting image disrupting the subtle flow of the night. The man across from them notices the distracted look clouding blue eyes and the slight frown that crosses otherwise light features.

"Lestat?" The man asks, hand tapping lightly against the counter top. 

"Hmm?" Lestat hums, returning his attention once again to the man across from him.

"You seemed distracted..." he trails off, unsure of what to say.

"Yes, I thought I saw some...one, but I must have been mistaken." He gives a smile, tongue flicking across sharp teeth. Though he portrays the illusion of attention, Lestat's mind is elsewhere. The dark haired one takes note of this, ceasing all attempts at conversation. For a moment they stand in silence, Lestat watching the snow drift drearily down the darkness, the other watching Lestat- scanning his features.

"Tomorrow, you're off from work, right?" The question draws back Lestat, who cocks his head ever so slightly to the side.

"I am."

"Come with me, to the club right across the street."

Lestat gives a quiet sigh, "we've been over this before mon chéri. You know I cannot."

"Just once. I won't pull anything, I promise. And I'm sure it's a good spot to find..." he leans in, voice lowering, "some friends."

Lestat lets his eyes wander, moving down the man's face, traveling to his lips, then to his neck.

"Fine," he then repeats his response, quieter this time and making eye contact, "fine. I need to be going now, I shall see you tomorrow." With that Lestat straightens himself, walking around the counter. 

"Tomorrow." The man calls out, eyeing Lestat as he gathers his things and goes.

"Au revoir." Is the response he gets. 

The outside air is brisk, a gentle wind sending chills throughout Lestat. An uneasy feeling stirs within him- it wouldn't be the first time he was followed and jumped. It never ended well, not for the jumpers that is. But this time is different. Lestat doesn't feel threatened, so much as.... it is difficult to explain; the feeling familiar, yet just out of reach.

He gives a weary head shake, the trek home almost complete. The apartment he enters is a decent size- with a small kitchen space and living room separated by a red topped counter. There are three doors that branch off from across the kitchen: a bathroom, Lestat's bedroom, and a guest room. It is in the bathroom that Lestat finds himself. 

Clear droplets of warm crystalline water cascade into an alabaster tub. The raining drops create a semi-loud patter that drones out most other sound. Watching the water fall, Lestat gradually unbuttons his white shirt, pulling the fabric free from the waistband of his light grey, high waisted jeans. The material is dropped to the floor, pants following in suit. The small pile of fabric is left for the warmth of the shower. As he steps beneath the drops he runs his hands through tangled hair, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. Though the feeling of being watched has left, there still remains an uneasiness, an itch at the back of the mind. But for now, it cannot be scratched.  
~•~  
Sleep does not come easy, and when Lestat finally manages to grasp it, it is a struggle to hold on. Restlessness fills the coffin, a stirring that will not leave. For hours upon hours Lestat lay awake, staring at the velveteen material surrounding him. It is unbearable. Everything is suddenly too compact, too tight; Lestat feels as if he is suffocating. Unable to calm down in the closing in space, the coffin is violently flung open. Wide eyes dart around the darkened room, all light blocked off by the thick curtains adorning the windows. From a near empty desk pale red numbers show the time to be 9:17. He had been so caught up in attempting to sleep that he hadn't realized the day was past.

A gentle yawn leaves pink lips as Lestat makes his way across the dark room. From out of a closet he grabs a pair of high waisted black jeans, pulling them on. For a shirt he wears a loose royal purple tank top that falls just above the jeans waistband. Whilst walking from the room he runs his fingers through his hair, weaving the strands together in the form of a braid. For shoes, a pair of short, black boots with small buckles on the outward facing side. 

The air outside is cold, much colder than the previous night. As he makes his way down the street, the only people Lestat passes are the late-night creeps, homeless, and small groups out to party; the watched feeling claws its way back, settling in once again. Crossing his bare arms, Lestat continues on, glad for the short walk, but not-so-glad for the mistake of forgetting a jacket. By the time the flashing sign signaling the entrance to the club is within sight, a slight shiver has taken residence within Lestat. As he approaches the small line already forming, his eyes land on Draven- his friend from the cafe. 

"We have to wait a bit before we can go in, something to do with the speakers or mic not working. I dunno, wasn't really paying much attention," the words are spoken as Lestat takes his place beside Draven. 

"So we have to wait out here for an undefined amount of time, because either the speakers or microphones are not working?" Lestat clarifies, raising an eyebrow.

"Correct," Draven responds with a slight head nod.

"Great," Lestat mumbles, shifting his stance as to project annoyance, "fucking perfect."

The feeling of being watched does not leave, if anything it only persists, growing stronger and more unsettling.  
~~~~  
End.  
This took much longer to type than it should have. Because I'm so horrible at updating stories, and midterms are this week, I have no idea when chapter two will be up, but hopefully soon. Just as a heads up of sorts, some things for characters may be a bit ooc and I wanted to apologize for that, this is my first time writing using these characters, so I'm getting used to them. Also Draven is an oc. The way I write Lestat, he will have much more sweating and hopefully more French, but as I am terrible at anything having to do with the French language, I dunno how it'll turn out. (Maybe I can get my French teacher to help without her knowing why). Sorry for the long ending note, I promise others won't be this long.  
-Comment, share, vote! <3


	2. The Club and Beyond

Flashing lights. Blinding colors of red, blue, green... they meld together, shifting in beat with the pounding music. Reverberations that spread throughout bodies. Crowds of stumbling, flailing, dancing- if that's what one would call it, people, some drunk, some not. Beautiful, ugly, unholy, happy chaos. And at the center of it all a blonde, with eyes slipped shut and a quirky half-grin. Loose arms are up, moving through the hot, stifling air; subtle movements that dare not draw attention away from the swaying hips. Thin fabric, purple to natural light, but a collage of dark morphs, altered by the filtered flashes of nonstop colors. It lifts with the long arms, revealing a strip of pale flesh, teasing to the lusty, drunken onlookers. One onlooker in particular, neither drunk nor lusting, watches with a great curiosity. 

Up above, blending within the crowded walkways of the second floor, a man stands amongst the shadows. His sharp eyes watch the dancing one, a hint of bemused curiosity in his stance. Something grows in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that causes hands to clench into fists and eyebrows to knit together. The cause of this strange feeling is an unfamiliar man. One who walks up behind Lestat, joining him in the none-too-appropriate dance. Their bodies move together, the man's hands grasping lightly at Lestat's hips as pale hands reach behind, curling in the blue dyed hair. From his place on the dance floor, Lestat glances up, eyes landing directly on Louis. For a split second his eyebrows furrow and his mouth opens slightly, but before he is able to properly look, Louis has disappeared. 

Through the dazzling lights and a hazy mind, Lestat is unsure if what he saw was real, or just another misconception. Old ghosts roaming the dark places of a tattered mind, painful wants becoming woven into reality. His movements are distracted, disconnected from the world around him. The man behind him takes notice of this and tightens his grip on Lestat's hips, moving to speak in his ear.

"Are you alright?" He semi-yells, voice not quite carrying over the music.

"I-i'm fine." Lestat responds, voice impossible to hear. He shakes his head slightly, turning in the man's arms, "we should head somewhere calmer!" 

"Alright. If you want to." Grabbing ahold of Lestat's arm, as not to lose him in the swarm, he moves towards the exit.

Ringing. Loud and piercing, infiltrating ear drums in the sudden lack of deafening noise. An assault of quiet and freezing air. Goosebumps raise on flesh, and arms cross to keep warmth.

"Is everything alright?" Draven asks once again, joining Lestat on the slick, icy sidewalk. 

"Yes. I apologize, just something about that place." He shakes his head, looking down at the dirty, concrete path.

"I know exactly what you need."

"What?"

"Just follow me."

Casting a glance back at the club they have just abandoned, Lestat follows Draven down the deserted street.  
~•~  
"I do not think this idea is very wise," Lestat comments, staring down at the body of a passed out person. 

"Come on, it'll help I promise. Don't you want to enjoy yourself?" Lestat hesitates for a moment, squinting at Draven. Giving a small sigh, he gives in, leaning down. A fuzzy warmth spreads throughout his body. It buzzes in his fingertips, courses throughout his veins. Before he is done it has clouded his brain, muddling his thoughts and skewing his decisions. As time passes the effects really begin to take hold, growing stronger. 

"Shall we be off?" Lestat suggests, a drunken smirk gracing his face. 

"We shall," responds Draven. 

The night becomes a swirl of twisting memories. Scenes careening through an intoxicated mind. A blazing trail of burning regrets cloaked in false happiness. The spastic strobes replace flickering street lamps, cool outside air forgotten for the stuffy, smelly momentary escape. A momentary moment that lasts days. Repeating cycles to forget, to feel free, to feel alive, but most of all to feel not so alone. Bursting sparks amidst a shallow darkness- going off bright and loud, all at once, only to fizzle out and lose the light, replaced again the next night. The repetitive cycle, the dangerous cycle, lasting the course of four nights. Four nights that shift into days, days that come too quickly, arrive too soon. Days that nearly touch alabaster skin- planting their fiery kiss with feather light touches. Days that almost succeed in the downfall of a broken angel.

Days that bring concern to a silent onlooker, experiencing each night with various tones of worry- experience from a distance that alters perception. A perception that brings the need to intervene- to stop the downfall midair, to catch the broken angel before they can crumble. 

It is early in the morning. Despite the nights chill, the air is gradually warming. Soon the sun will rise. Sloppily seated in a slump in a booth is Lestat. He wears nothing but a pair of low cropped skinny jeans, an unbuttoned white blouse, and black socks. His discarded shoes sit beside him. For the first time in four days he is alone, his blue haired companion nowhere to be found. If he does not leave within minutes than there is no way he will make it home. Lestat does not move. Perhaps he does not realize. With eyes glazed over he stares at an empty glass, finger tracing circles around the rim. His mouth is parted slightly in thought, an almost confused expression on his face. Perhaps he does not care. Louis casts a weary glance outside, standing from his perched position across the room. Lestat is so out of it that he doesn't even notice him. Gently he places a light hand on Lestat's shoulder, drawing the man out of his own mind.

"We need to get you home." He says, just loud enough to hear. An array of emotions flash across Lestat's face, mouth opening to speak. He is unable to get any words out. Before he can process the situation, Louis has pulled him from Club, outside into the morning air. He doesn't allow Lestat to talk, hushing him every time he tries. By the time they manage to reach Lestat's apartment, the sun is already beginning to peer out from behind the distant trees. 

The apartment is easy to navigate, Lestat not so much. It is a struggle to drag him into his bedroom, as he seems to want to be anywhere except there.

"Lestat!" Louis exclaims, exasperation reaching its peak, "you need to get into your coffin."

"But I don't want to!" He sounds like a stubborn child, arms crossed, backed into the rooms corner. Louis lets out an annoyed hiss, moving toward Lestat. His hands grasp Lestat's shoulders tightly.

"Lestat. Get. In. Your. Coffin."

"No." He says the word, eyes staring deep into Louis'.

"Why?" Louis is quickly becoming frustrated, "Just get in the goddamn coffin!"

"I won't!"

"Lestat! Why?" By now they're both yelling.

"Because you'll leave!" There is nothing but anger in Lestat's voice, but his eyes- his eyes are a different story. They close and Louis is left speechless.

"Lestat?" His voice is quiet.

"I've said too much." He removes Louis' hands from his shoulders, stepping aside and walking over to his coffin, "down in the basement there's a door, you're smart I'm sure you'll find it, it leads out of here. You'll end up in a cemetery." Without another word the coffin is closed and Louis is left in a room of silence.  
~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~This chapter was longer than expected and very late. Sorry bout that. I dunno when the next chapter will be up, but it'll be sometimes in February.


	3. Hungover {Pt.1}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would have been too long for me to make this all one chapter, so I've split it into two parts.

Pain. Coursing, pounding pain. Every noise too loud, every light too bright. Slowly the coffin opens and up sits Lestat, head cradled by his right hand. Tonight is the first in four nights that he isn't waking up to alcohol tainted blood and a club to party at. It is not a good night. Getting out of the coffin consists of a flop onto the floor, movements taking more energy than they should. Everything is going fine until the contents of his stomach shift, no longer wanting to be where they are. He somehow makes it to the bathroom in time.

With his stomach empty, he leans back against a wall, giving a long sigh as the toilet water swirls, disappearing down through the pipes. For the first time Lestat is able to properly think. Much of last night is a hazy mess, blurbs of colors, sounds, blackness, Louis... Louis. Was it real? Was he real? He felt so real. Hot tears, pooling in dim eyes that squeeze shut. Shaky breaths as Lestat picks himself up, haphazardly padding back to his room. He doesn't even pay attention to the clothes he puts on his body, too distracted and too hungover to care.

He goes for something simple: a plain black long sleeve that fits loosely and a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair is stuck into a messy bun and a pair of sunglasses make home to his face on the way out. By the time Lestat reaches the slow moving cafe, his mood has been set.

His arrival signals the shift end of his coworker, who seems much more eager to leave than most days- never a good sign. Taking his place behind the counter, Lestat eyes the cafe inhabitants, nobody in particular standing out to him. He gives a sigh, leaning against the shiny surface. Just as he is beginning to drift off, escape the annoyance that is reality for the blissful nothingness of sleep, the front door slams open. In strolls a small group of not-particularly nice looking men. A group well known to the people of this city section; a group well known for causing trouble.

"What do you want?" Lestat asks, voice holding a sharp edge. His question goes ignored.

"Sunglasses?" The groups leader comments, fingers tapping against the counter, "you are aware that it is night, aren't you?"

Lestat doesn't respond, opting for a long, drawn out sigh instead. From behind the reflective lenses he glances between the four men, no doubt there are more waiting outside. By now he knows the gig with them: don't say much, don't tick them off, and most importantly don't start anything. Let them mull around for a bit, say some things, maybe give them something, then they'll be on their way. Simple. Except Lestat isn't in a "simple" mood- he's tired, and hungover, and not willing to put up with these idiots.

"Not very talkative tonight are ya?" The leader leans forward, his breath reeking of fresh alcohol. As he does so his crew disperses, looking around the cafe. Lestat keeps a weary eye on them, his annoyance only growing. With his current state he could take on two, maybe three of these guys, but the whole gang, no way. He has got to stay calm. His covered eyes return to the man in front of him, eyebrows drawn together.

"You're a pretty one, aren't you," he speaks quietly, a hand reaching to tug lightly at a blonde curl that has come loose. "You remember me, don't you?" Hot air tickles Lestat's ear, a cold hand caressing his cheek. 

"Yes." His tone is venomous. 

Unwelcome memories pull themselves from the back of Lestat's mind. The even beat of a drum, reverberating throughout a crowd of moving bodies. All other sound drowned out by the music- all of it background noise. Somewhere among the shifting feet and grinding hips is Lestat. His blonde hair is loose around his shoulders, swaying in time with the low cut shorts that rest just below his hips. Across the exposed flesh of his collarbones glitter glints in the flashing lights. Into the mass a figure stalks, eyes set on Lestat. Strong hands grasp at Lestat's hips, gaining a rough grip; fingers digging into pale flesh, hard enough to leave a mark.

"You're a pretty one, aren't you?" A gruff voice, lips moving against Lestat's ear. His hips are pulled back, body forced against another. Rigidly he turns his head, briefly making eye contact with pools of drunkenly gleaming grey. Utter distaste crosses his face as he jerks his hips away, shaking his head and shuffling through the crowd. He doesn't get far. 

The hands are back, taking ahold of Lestat's arm, pulling violently. Letting out a startled cry, Lestat stumbles backwards, body colliding with the man's.

"Let go!" He shouts, temper flaring. He receives a laugh, followed by lips trailing down his neck and a hand wandering forward from his hip. 

"You're a feisty one." The man comments, lips still pressed to Lestat's neck. As the wandering hand reaches its destination Lestat's foot is sent down. The man jumps back in startled pain, lifting his foot to his hands. Taking the opportunity, Lestat rushes off, sparing a single glance back.

Lestat is forced out of his memory trance by a painful tug of his hair. He looks up, expression one of anger and confusion. The man in front of him has Lestat's hair twirled around his finger, a lusty look filming his predatory eyes.

"If you aren't going to order something, then I am going to have to ask you to leave." His words are spoken slowly, the ever growing anger bubbling over and seeping into his words.

"Oh come on, don't be like that."

"Cafe rule." He responds, eyes glaring from behind the dark glasses. Something passes through the man's eyes- a flicker. He squints, relinquishing his hold on Lestat's hair.

"Alright." He takes a step back, nodding to his friends, who follow behind him out the door. Once they are gone, Lestat lets out a sigh, all but collapsing onto the counter. Though he has evaded trouble, an unsettling feeling still lurks within the depths of his stomach.


	4. Hungover {Pt. 2}

The night crawls onward at an agonizingly slow pace. For Lestat, stuck inside the too bright, too hot cafe, the night is endless. Time drags on, carrying with it irritability and anger. A headache that pounds, pain making teeth grind. 

For Louis, who watches from the cold, brick wall of a lifeless club, the night is filled with a silent debate. An internal conflict between mind and heart. 

The morning is drawing forth when they return. Motorcycles gleaming in the fading moonlight, drunken bodies stumbling forth to the lit cafe. The look on Lestat's face as they enter is enough to make Louis push himself from the wall. He stands straight and crosses his arms, waiting for the scene to unfold. Minutes tick by, every second lasting a lifetime. Voices, loud, threatening; yelling from inside the cafe followed by an object being thrown. It is sudden, but not unexpected. Lestat has managed to remove the rodents from the cafe, but has thrown himself out with them. The group stands outside the doors, hungry eyes circling Lestat. Although his instinct tells him to interrupt, Louis does not. This is not his fight. 

Compared to the stifling air inside, the night is a welcomed escape. Lestat eyes the men circling about him, ready for action. It is the leader who strikes first, lunging towards Lestat, who narrowly dodges. A chain reaction is set off, every member pounces. Fists are flying, hands clawing. Lestat manages to take down five before it all becomes too much. His vision blurs, fuzzy blackness creeping in. Legs collapse, body numb to the pain- unable to feel the harsh pavement beneath. There comes pressure, bursts of it, voices echoing through a sharp ringing. Then it is gone. No more pressure, no more voices: only the ear splitting ringing and inability to feel. Crimson trickles down alabaster flesh, the black peripheral fading away. 

A shadow stands over Lestat. A dark outline, a brooding figure with visible brown hair. Lestat releases a long breath, dim eyes staring up at the other man. The ones that peer back are hard, a wall to hold back emotion. There comes an outstretched hand, a hand in which Lestat grasps, allowing his body to be pulled up. He stands shakily, knees buckling, unable to support himself. He is caught before the ground can meet him again. Louis does not speak. Although his vision is hazy and his nerves numb, Lestat gets the vague sensation that he is moving, or rather being pulled along.

Consciousness is lost, only to be momentarily regained. Flashes, noises, the world becomes a kaleidoscope- then it ends. There is no sound, not a thing to be seen, to be felt. Floating in an endless expanse of nothing, drifting further from reality... softness. Gentle. Cold, yet relieving. Light touches, delicate and careful. And then eyes are flickering open. Louis, beautiful, perfect Louis looms over him. Silky hair is tucked behind one ear and a mask of concentration covers his face. In his hands is a damp cloth, in which he is using to clean the blood that trails down Lestat's pale face. Eyes meet, but still Louis does not speak. 

"You've been watching me," Lestat says, voice quiet and hoarse. It feels as though he's been screaming, and yet he's hardly said a thing. There is no response. Louis' eyes flick back to the stained cloth. A few seconds pass before he straightens his back, leaving the room. As he walks away, Lestat slowly sits, hands grasping the sides of his coffin. And once again he is left alone. The world blurs and he blinks harshly against the liquid crimson. A single red drop escapes.

"Are you bleeding again?" The voice comes from the doorway. It is soft, deep and melodic. It causes Lestat to turn his head, wishing his hair was a veil he could hide behind, so Louis wouldn't see him crying, so he wouldn't look back, so he wouldn't see Louis standing there and wish that he would stay, that he would hold Lestat and never leave. No, he couldn't turn his head, he couldn't face the truth. He couldn't face Louis. The red had invaded his vision now and he forced his eyes closed.

"Are you alright?" Louis' steps are muffled by the carpet.

"I'm fine!" Lestat snaps, voice dripping with venom. Though he opens his eyes, they focus on the floor.

"Lestat." The tone is so gentle, so quiet. It breaks him.

"I said I'm fi-ine." Though he tries to make his voice harsh, it cracks; a thin, long break in the facade. Louis stands in front of him. "The sun is coming up, you should go."

And then Louis is kneeling, eyes steely and expression void.

"What happened to you?" He whispers, "you used to always be so composed."

"Fuck off." Lestat growls in return, glaring over at the other man.

"I cannot. As you stated before, the sun is rising. Due to construction on the lower floor of this building I am unable to leave."

"So formal with your words," Lestat's tone is vicious, every word bathed in malice. He is hurt, but he will not let Louis see that, he will use his words, project his pain through anger. He shakily pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the ant race that creeps around the edges of his eyes.

"Where are you going?" Louis asks, looking up at him as he steps out of the velvet tomb.

"You take it," he murmurs, wobbling away. And somehow Lestat finds himself staring at the closed curtains, shakily walking towards them as his voice becomes quiet, "you need the sleep."

Vaguely he can hear his name being called, but it is muddled, as if the voice comes from high above and Lestat is willingly trapped beneath the water. The substance fills his lungs, yet it does not choke him, everything is murky, yet his mind is clear. His fingers are curling around the thick material of the charcoal curtains. There is no longer air in his lungs, only the rolling water. An arm is around his waist, pulling up, out of the dark depths; a hand grasps his own, removing shaky fingers from the veil. His name is clear now, it comes from Louis.

"-stat please." 

"Louis?" His tone is confused, eyebrows drawn together.

"Just get into the coffin," the walls have come down, giving way to distress, to worry. As Louis guides Lestat back to the coffin he gives the other man a very concerned look. But Lestat does not lay down, he simply sits, staring up at Louis with an unreadable expression.

"If you don't move over, then I will not be able to get in." And so Lestat moves over and Louis in. The lid is closed and breath mingles, legs tangling in an attempt at comfort. Time passes, but neither is able to sleep.

"Louis?" Although it is just them, Lestat finds himself whispering.

"Yes?"

"Are you real?"

"Of course I am." Lestat carefully places a hand on Louis cheek. Fingers trace the flesh- down, over slightly parted lips, caressing a soft skinned neck and over clothed collarbones. He lets out a weary sigh, hand splayed over an unbeating heart. If he closes his eyes, then it is easier. Easier to pretend that everything is alright, easier to pretend that Louis will stay.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, barely audible, as the in-between coerces his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so sorry this took so long to post. I've had literally no motivation, but hey schools out now, although I am going to be working full time. I have no idea when the next chapter will be out, and I don't know where I want it to go. (I do have some previously typed up text I want to put in), so tell me where you think I should take this.


	5. Morning

He expects Louis to be gone- to have left with the sun, disappeared into the dark and out of his life once again. To an extent he is correct, but not in the way he had thought. The coffin is void of Louis, and Lestat feels his throat close; his hands grasp at the crimson velvet encasing his weary existence and he does not want to get up. How long will they go on like this? Two lines, intertwining, twisting together only to be broken apart over and over again. A cycle: Louis always leaving, and Lestat never making him stay, never saying the words he so desperately wants to shout until his throat is raw, until his lungs no longer inhale, and his voice no longer falls victim to the silence that seems to embody the both of them. As he lets his mind wander down the dark path, he does not feel the warm liquid trickling from his tightly shut eyes, or hear the subtle sound of muffled steps. And when the coffin lid is opened, and there stands Louis, beautiful, brooding Louis, Lestat is filled with confusion.

"I was going to leave," Louis begins, only to fall silent.

"Why didn't you?" Lestat whispers, sad eyes gazing up at him.

"That, I do not know." Neither speaks, nor moves, nor breaks eye contact.

"You're still going to leave." It is a fact, a small detail that Lestat knows to be true. For a moment Louis' eyes flick away, his voice is quieter than it had been before.

"Yes, eventually," he straightens up, brooding mood and fatal face returning once again, "I have no reason to stay."

Lestat knows that if his heart were not still, it would have skipped a beat, or maybe slowed altogether until the rushing blood turned to sludgy mud and all functions ceased. But he is numb, and the tears that traced through worn trails no longer fill the lonely void; there is nothing to fill the hollow space. He wants to break, to fall apart and scream and cry and shout, to curse the world and time, and existence, and Louis, and love- and yet, he cannot. There is a bone chilling, uneasy numbness that encompasses all he is. He lets out a sharp laugh, hatred dripping from his tongue,

"Then go, I do not need you," in a sweeping gesture he is signaling to the door. His harsh eyes are cast away, for he knows that if he looks at Louis he will lose his composure. And so he doesn't see the look on Louis' face, see the morose expression crumble away; he doesn't see the Louis that wants Lestat to give him a reason to stay. There is a silence that settles in the space between- it is as if time itself is stood still, frozen in the moment of decision. And so he does. Without so much as a breath, Louis has carried himself from the room. And Lestat, sitting there in the coffin, feels his anger growing. He cannot let Louis leave him again.

"You absolute fucking asshole," he says, too quiet for the ears of a human to hear. But Louis is not human and the pure anger behind the words causes him to falter. It is the next words that make him turn, face Lestat with an eyebrow raised,

"I hate you Louis, I hate you," pure anger, nothing except a venomous glare to accompany the words. Louis looms in the doorway, staring across at the other man, who swiftly stands from the coffin. "You fucker. You storm into my life all brooding and negative, unnecessarily might I add, and be all goddamn nice and kind and it's all wonder-fucking-ful. Then like that," his fingers snap, albeit a little dramatically, "you're up leaving once again. Can't possibly stay with Ol' Lestat, lest you actually become something other than a moody, bitchy ass who spends his nights brooding with the fucking rats, while I'm up here trying to live whatever life this hell is."

Louis can't help it, irritation wells up and the fingers pinching the bridge of his nose cannot stop him. Flinging his hand from his face, Louis takes a few steps forward, "For once in your life would you stop being such a pompous ass! Drop the insults, stop belittling others, and stop making yourself seem so high and mighty," his voice falters, quieting, "be honest with me, for once just be honest. Tell me how you really feel."

"Oh, me, a pompous ass? Well at least I didn't set someone on fire, and LEAVE them to BURN." He matches Louis' steps with his own; if he were to reach out, he could grasp the fabric of Louis' shirt.

"Lestat, your being petty."

"Well it's fucking better than being y-" Like his words, his forward march is cut off by Louis.

"Lestat, just stop. I swear if you don't than I'm just going to-"

"Your going to what? Leave, well why not? It's what you're good at isn't it. Just walk away." He no longer sounds angry- just empty, done. Standing straight, he lets his hands rest at his sides, no grand gestures, no dramatic flare. The eyes that stare over at Louis are hard, once rampant emotion forced back by walls.

"Lestat...." His voice is soft. It is what finally breaks Lestat.

"You left me Louis. You left me alone, I have spent so many years terribly, utterly, fucking alone. I just wanted you to stay, I wanted a family, but she- she was taking you away from me. And I don't care if that's selfish. You: moody, broody, grumpy you, that was all that I wanted. I want you with me, I don't want to be alone, I-" Unlike before his voice is laced with emotion, lip quivering and hands shaking. It is Lestat who cuts himself off, eyes widened, and stumbles backwards.

"Lestat?" Louis' voice is impossibly quiet, he stretches out a hand and Lestat freezes. And now is it Lestat who turns his back, facing away from Louis.

"Lestat, take my hand," at the words Lestat's hand twitches, but he does not move. "Lestat, please."

The movements are slow, unsure, but Lestat stretches his hand out behind himself. His fingers lace with Louis and for a second everything is alright. He feels his arm being tugged and body tumbling back, but Louis, still holding his hand, wraps his arms under Lestat's own. Over a still chest they rest, clasped around the hand they still hold. Louis sets his chin on Lestat's shoulder, dark locks mixing with light. Cool lips press against Lestat's jaw and he can't help but close his eyes, the smallest smile finding way to his mouth, quickly followed by Louis' own lips. It is a gentle kiss, chaste almost. But the two mouths fit together perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last chapter! They've still got plenty to work through. (Also how do I delete the notes below this?)


	6. A Talk

It is after the kiss, arms still wrapped tightly around Lestat, when Louis speaks, "Lestat, we need to talk about your behavior these last few days." He can see Lestat's walls forming, his eyes hardening.

"Don't be ridiculous Louis, everything is fine."

"And yet, I do not believe you when you say that. Please, stop lying to me."

"I'm not," his voice is quiet, eyes closed.

"Stop lying to yourself."

"Louis it's the only thing keeping me sane," they're spoken so fast, so low, that Louis barely hears the words.

"I don't think it's working," he states. His head rests against Lestat's shoulder, deep eyes gazing up at the other. Lestat opens his eyes, turning his head to face Louis, whose nose scrunches up as blonde hair brushes his face.

"Fuck." He whispers, as if unaware the words have left his mouth, "fucking hell."

Louis' eyebrows knit together, mimicking the ones in front of him. "What?"

"I love you," he is impossibly quiet, "I really, really love you. And it scares me."

Louis remains silent, watching the walls turn to gates and let him in.

"I love you, too." He murmurs, and Lestat casts his eyes down, exhaling.

"And that is the problem- never before has it stopped you from leaving. You love me, yet you still leave me. I cannot make you stay forever, and you don't love me enough to ever stay long. There lies the difference in our love."

Louis does not know what to say. His eyes scan Lestat's face, lips pressed together.

"I am here now," is all Louis can say, yet he can tell it isn't enough.

"I know." Lestat releases a drawn out sigh, "But where from here do we go?"

"You have work, do you not? How about starting there?" Lestat rolls his eyes at the response, casting them to the red numbers gleaming in the dark room.

"Fuck!" He exclaims, much different than before, "I'm late."

And suddenly Louis is all action, releasing Lestat for the wardrobe that stands a few feet away.

"What do you wear?" 

"A pair of jeans and any shirt, it doesn't matter," both are moving fast, Lestat pulling off the clothes he wears as Louis replaces them with high waisted light blue skinny jeans and a plain black tee shirt. They are already halfway out the door before Lestat even has one shoe on. He is nearly an hour late for his shift.

When he walks behind the counter, hair hastily being pulled into a messy bun, he receives a very pointed look from his coworker.

"Never again," they mutter angrily, pushing past Lestat. There are few in the warm room: a younger looking girl tapping away at a laptop, while not too far away a couple drunkards shush one another. < They are no surprise, with the club directly across they're prone to catching a few stragglers drifting out the black painted doors. >

And in the corner, tucked away from the controlled chaos, sits Louis. He leans against the booth, eyes following Lestat's movements; they trace his path as he checks inventory, simultaneously tying the deep green Cafe apron around his waist. As Lestat goes his eyes are focused, unaware of the ones that trail him. He subconsciously tucks any stray hairs behind his ear, going to the front counter once again. Lestat feels his eyes drifting to Louis, a smile coming to his face as they make contact. Louis, dark and brooding Louis, gives a smile back. He points at Lestat, signaling for him to come over.

"What?" Lestat murmurs, using his hands to lean on the table.

"I have to go." Lestat's eyes flicker closed, blinking twice. Louis covers Lestat's hand with his own, "I'll be back, I promise."

"Alright," Lestat murmurs with a single nod. But he doesn't meet Louis' eyes. Gentle lips press tenderly against Lestat's, lingering even after he has gone- a ghost of future could be's sparking across chapped skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {This took much longer to write than I had anticipated, and is way shorter than I had wanted it to be. But I fear that I am at a roadblock- I have no idea where I had originally wanted to go with this chapter. If y'all have any requests or ideas feel free to comment them.}


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